I must channel Tim Robbins inThe Shawshank Redemptionand escape through the sewage pipe of awkwardness. Holding Granny’s brown paper bag of goodies, I carefully slide out of the booth. My feet move quietly one at a time, like a cat burglar. I can make it. Just one more step and—
“Maisie? Is thatyou?”
Lindsey’s voice sends a chill down my spine like sharp nails running the length of a chalkboard. My entire body freezes mid-step, one foot hovering above the floor as my stomach plummets faster than a skydiver without a parachute. Nausea swirls in my gut, replacing the warm, contented feeling from moments ago.
I turn around at the speed of a sloth on tranquilizers. My face arranges itself into what I hope is a neutral expression but probably looks like I’m passing a kidney stone.
“Oh. Hi, Lindsey, . . . Andy.” That last word comes out more offensively than I intended.
Andy raises a hand in a limp little wave, his gaze glued to the floor like it might swallow him whole. I silently pray that it will. The guilt radiating from him is almost palpable, but not nearly enough to satisfy the vindictive part of me that wants him to slip and fall flat on his face in a pile of horse manure.
Lindsey, on the other hand, looks positively delighted. Her eyes sparkle with the special gleam reserved for people who enjoy watching others squirm.
“Wow! It’s beenforever!“ she gushes, flashing all thirty-two of her possibly whitened teeth. The enthusiasm in her voice is so fake it might as well be plastic. “What a coincidence running into you here.”
“Yeah . . . small town and all,” I say, smiling in that tight, please-get-me-out-of-here way that makes my cheeks hurt.
The diner suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. I’m hyper-aware of every customer who might be watching this uncomfortable reunion. Mr. Rawlins has abandoned his crossword puzzle to observe us with undisguised interest. Even the Spivey twins have paused their beef jerky debate.
“How are you?” Lindsey asks, tilting her head to one side like a curious bird eyeing a worm. Her gaze drifts to the brown paper bag clutched in my hand. “You look busy.”
My hold on the bag tightens until I worry it might burst, spilling bagels across the floor. “Just grabbing breakfast before class, but gotta run.” My voice sounds strained. “You know how it is. First-grade rs waiting to learn their ABCs won’t teach themselves.”
“Well, it’s been such a whirlwind for us,” Lindsey goes on, totally ignoring all signs of me wanting to exit this conversation. She glances at Andy with nauseating affection, linking her arm through his. “Wedding planning is basically a second job. Have you heard? It’s in June.”
Yep. Heard it. Seen it. Had it announced to me over pancakes. Tried to mentally erase it. Failed miserably.
“That’s great,” I say, forcing my lips to curve upward in what I hope passes for a smile and not a grimace. “Congrats, guys. But I really have to—“
“You wouldn’tbelievehow hard it is to find a decent florist this close to the date,“ Lindsey continues, steamrolling over my escape attempt like it’s not even happening. She’s either oblivious to my discomfort or—more likely—enjoying it. “Anddon’t get me started on the venue! We almost had to postpone because the Lakeside Garden was double-booked. At least Ashford Natural Foods is catering so the food will be delicious.”
My teeth clench so hard I worry about dental damage. Is she seriously going to stand here and complain about wedding planning to the woman whose boyfriend she stole? The audacity could power a small country.
Andy, perhaps sensing the tension thick enough to cut with a butter knife, clears his throat. “So . . . you’ve been okay?” He finally meets my eyes, but only for a fraction of a second before his gaze falls on Lindsey.
Chicken.
What did I ever see in him, anyway?
I give my best sweet-but-deadly smile and say, “Oh, I’ve been great. Super busy, actually—with work and . . . other things.”
“What other things?” Lindsey’s interest perks up instantly, eyes sparkling with curiosity and a dash of competitive glee that I recognize all too well. We were friends long enough for me to know that look. “Do tell.”
Something hot and impulsive flares in my chest, a desperate need to not appear pathetic in front of them. Before my brain can catch up with my mouth, words are tumbling out: “I’ve been spending a lot of time with my boyfriend.”
The second the wordboyfriendleaves my lips, I freeze up. What have I done? I haven’t been on a successful date in months, let alone developed a relationship worth mentioning.
Something shifts in the air between us. Lindsey blinks rapidly, her smug smile faltering for a briefest of moments—a tiny crack in her armor that gives me a shameful burst of satisfaction.
Even Andy looks like someone had unplugged his brain and is frantically trying to reboot it, his brows and hairline drawing closer together.
“Oh,” Lindsey says after a beat, recovering quickly but not quite managing to hide her surprise. “A boyfriend. That’s . . . wonderful.” Her gaze flicks to Andy, then back to me, like she’s recalculating something in her head. “Anyone we know?”
I’m in too deep to backpedal now. I shake my head, riding the wave of my own lie like a surfer heading for certain doom. “No, he’s new in town. You wouldn’t know him.” My palms have started sweating, but I maintain eye contact, willing her to believe me.
Andy’s skepticism is apparent, but he doesn’t contradict me. Probably because that would require actually participating in this conversation instead of standing there like a mannequin.
“Great!” Lindsey says with relish. “You can bring him to the wedding.”
